


it's only blood

by aisu10



Category: Chronicle (2012)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Nosebleed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 22:04:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7072303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aisu10/pseuds/aisu10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>andrew gets a nosebleed and steve tries to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's only blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [autopsydoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/autopsydoe/gifts).



“andrew, come on. it’s too heavy.”

“no, i can do it, dude, just watch.”

steve _is_ watching, watching closely, as andrew stands at the foot of his friend’s bed and prepares to try to lift it telekinetically -- while steve’s still sitting on it. it’s just the two of them, as matt had decided he was better off spending his time _blazing it_ in his car and steve had offered andrew a ride to his house to hang out with him instead of going home. but they don’t need matt to practice their telekinesis, or rather, _dare each other to do ridiculous things with their telekinesis_ , which is exactly what they’re doing now.

andrew’s face is screwed up in intense concentration, angled brows knotted together and forehead creased between them as he holds his hands out toward the bed and the boy upon it. as steve waits, he begins to feel the bedframe shudder and then lift off the ground as promised. it’s only a couple inches but it’s a start, and steve is about to congratulate andrew when his friend suddenly winces as if he’s burned the invisible hands holding up the bed, causing it to abruptly drop back onto its four legs with a loud _clunk._ he’s about to ask what happened when he sees the streak of _red_ running down andrew’s lip and recognizes it as one of the many spontaneous nosebleeds they’ve come to consider a standard part of using telekinesis.

flashing him a grimace that’s more like a grin, steve giggles, "oh, shit, dude, there it goes. the floodgates are open."  
  
andrew dives for the tissue box on steve's counter and quickly pulls several tissues from it, at first using them to wipe the blood from his nose and mouth and then just shoving them up into his nostrils to plug the flow. steve keeps on giggling as he watches andrew's frantic movements.

“guess you need to work out more.”

andrew pouts at him from beneath all the tissues, his lips redder than usual due to the blood smeared on them. refusing to answer, he busies himself with tossing soaked tissues into the trash and replacing them with more. steve’s had his fair share of nosebleeds since he got his powers, and before that they were a regular occurrence on the football field. he knows they usually stop after a minute or two, so he leaves andrew to it and lies back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. the first minute passes, then the second. after the third or fourth, andrew’s muffled voice pipes up.  
  
"dude, s'not stopping."  
  
"you've just gotta wait a little longer."  
  
"you're running out of tissues."  
  
steve's brows shoot up and he tumbles off the bed, heading for the bathroom to grab a roll of toilet paper before andrew can bleed all over his carpet. andrew gratefully takes the roll and begins pulling off pieces of it to use in place of the tissues as steve pulls the desk chair over to the foot of the bed, then beckons for andrew to sit down at it with the roll in his lap and the trash can at his feet while steve settles himself on the edge of the bed in front of him. after another few minutes of watching andrew fumble with the soggy toilet paper, steve offers,

“let me help.”  
  
andrew doesn’t even look at him.

"i've got it."

steve can see he’s just shoving toilet paper up his nose to plug a flow that just isn’t stopping, instead of actually doing anything to stop it. once andrew seems to have jammed as much paper into his nostrils as they can hold, he sinks back in the chair and lays his head back, presumably to keep the blood from pouring out and soaking through the newest dam of tissues. steve frowns.  
  
"you're doing it wrong.”

andrew squints over at him from his position, mumbling, “what?”

“you're not supposed to tilt your head back."

the squint quickly becomes a glare.

“it’s _fine_ , steve.”

frown deepening, steve argues, “c’mon, just let me --”

"i said i've _got it."_

steve inches forward and motions toward his friend’s bleeding nose.

“but you’re not even _pinching it,_ you’ve gotta --”  
  
stubbornly, andrew scoots the chair back to cancel out steve’s advance.

"steve, _stop it_ \--"  
  
steve reaches for andrew's face, insisting, "dude, just trust me, i've done this before --"  
  
with sudden vehemence, andrew slaps his hand away and shouts: _"i have, too!"_  
  
they both fall silent, then, as steve's hand stings in the air where it hangs between them, and andrew's bloodstained bottom lip trembles until he digs his teeth into it. in the commotion the blood was able to escape its tissue prison and is now leaking down his face again, bright and jarring against his pale skin. from the wounded tone of his voice, steve can tell that andrew's not talking about _telekinetic face periods_ , that he's been victim to more physical violence than he’ll ever dare admit -- and not just from school bullies. steve's caught glimpses of the bruises he sometimes shows up to school with, and the thought of them carves at his heart like a knife. how many times has this boy sat alone in his bedroom, or out on the bleachers or the field, trying his best to nurse an injury inflicted by someone else’s brutal hands all on his own? the knife drives in harder, threatening to puncture steve’s heart and make it gush as hard as andrew’s nose is.  
  
backing off with his hand raised in surrender, steve murmurs,  
  
"fine, alright. i'm sorry."  
  
sniffing quietly, andrew replaces the paper in his bleeding nose, plugging it up once more so his blood no longer flows down his lip.  
  
"i can take care of myself," he mumbles halfheartedly after a moment, as if he's trying to remind himself as much as steve.  
  
steve sits with his arms crossed, hands tucked against his ribs, and says softly:  
  
"yeah, i know. but you shouldn't have to."  
  
another silence follows. andrew bites his lip harder, refusing to make eye contact.  
  
"...what'd you say to do? pinch it?"  
  
"yeah, just pinch it and hold tight."  
  
andrew squeezes the tip of his nose with his forefinger and thumb, then tilts his head back and sighs. rolling his eyes, steve scolds,  
  
"dude, i told you not to tilt your head back."

exasperated, andrew crunches his brows together and asks, _"why not?"_  
  
"if you tilt your head back, you swallow all the blood and it makes you sick." andrew looks at him skeptically and steve frowns back. "don't tell me you've been swallowing blood this whole time."  
  
steve can see andrew's adam's apple jerking in his skinny throat as he avoids his eyes again and mumbles, "i dunno."  
  
"you totally were. dude, you're such a dork," steve teases. andrew’s indignant pout returns but before he can retort, steve has leaned in, pushed his bangs out of the way with one hand, and pressed his lips to his broad forehead.  
  
steve realizes his mistake the moment he pulls away, and his heart thuds with embarrassment in his chest -- but andrew doesn't say anything, and when he glances nervously back at him he sees that he's just sitting there with his permanent frown on his lips and noticeably more color to his pale cheeks.

he doesn't tilt his head back again. steve’s just glad he could help.


End file.
